


still the one i need

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crazy In Love Ficathon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I'm trying to make us 3</i>
  <br/>
  <i>From that 2</i>
  <br/>
  <i>He still the 1</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	still the one i need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChibiRHM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiRHM/gifts).



> unbetaed; too long for the comments. for julia and for the beyonce ficathon.

Sid wakes up at 8 am, groaning at the alarm and throwing out an arm to shut off his phone. From behind him, Geno reaches over to tighten the arm slung over his waist, pulling Sid in closer.

"I need to get up, G," Sid mumbles, even though he'd really rather not.

Geno just nuzzles at his neck, and Sid can feel the brush of lips against his first vertebrae. "No," Geno replies, voice muffled. "Off-day. Sleep."

"I have appointments," Sid says, sighing -- he has to call Pat, and go in for some PR junket, and there's a few emails he's been meaning to send. "But. Dinner out, maybe?"

"Mmph," Geno grumbles, which Sid decides to take as a yes. 

Carefully Sid extracts himself out from under Geno’s grip, escaping to go take a shower and get clean. There are a couple of bruises from last night speckling his hips, nothing major, but when he presses into one of them in the shower, he can still feel the ache, a bit, right where Geno’s thumb had been.

Sid resolutely turns the water down a few degrees and starts soaping up.

Geno emerges when Sid’s halfway through breakfast, making low grumbling noises and rooting around in the fridge while Sid checks his email on his phone. There’s still nothing new, which is annoying, but Sid is prepared to wait. He can be patient. He’s good at that.

“Expect something?” Geno asks, and Sid looks up to find Geno nodding towards the iPhone, scooping up a spoonful of cereal and shoving it into his mouth. “Been checking lots, last few days.”

“No,” Sid says, and then amends it to “well, not really.”

Geno doesn’t say anything, mouth still full of cereal, but he raises his eyebrows.

“I – well. I can tell you later?” Sid says, taking a quick sip of coffee and wincing – he forgot to put any sugar in, so it’s too bitter.

Geno’s eyebrows stay raised, but he nods.

Sid’s phone chimes with a reminder about the photo op he promised Jen he’d do a month and a half ago and promptly forgot about until Jen reminded him last road trip. “Shit,” Sid mumbles, shoving the last of his toast in his mouth and grabbing his phone off the table. “Gotta go – dinner, though?”

“Dinner,” Geno agrees, tilting his cheek as Sid bends down so Sid can kiss him properly.

“And if you could mow the lawn? Maybe? It’s getting kind of jungle-like out there,” Sid says, grabbing his keys out of the bowl on the kitchen counter.

Geno huffs out a breath and turns around in his chair just so he can exaggeratedly roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, you work me so hard.”

“Baby,” Sid retorts. “See you later, love you, bye!”

As he rushes down the hall, Sid can just hear Geno shouting “Love you too!” and smiles, feeling settled.

-

It turns out the PR thing is actually Sid meeting with some local peewee teams, which, well. Sid can’t complain about meeting kids, which Jen of course knows to ruthlessly take advantage of whenever possible.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Jen says, nodding towards where the kids are trying to listen to their coach, but are mostly staring at Sid, wide-eyed and excited. “Almost makes you want one.” She sighs, and Sid remembers how her husband talked at the last team Christmas party about trying for a baby soon.

“Yeah,” Sid replies, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. One of the little girls grins when she sees him, and so Sid smiles, as wide as possible. She then turns bright red and starts whispering with one of her teammates, and it’s _adorable_.

When Sid looks back at Jen, it’s to find her contemplating him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, delicately stepping around names, because Jen is amazing and the Pens don’t pay her enough. Maybe Sid can pull for someone giving her a bonus, or a trip to Jamaica. Jen would probably like Jamaica.

“Four years,” Sid replies.

Jen nods, still watching the kids as their coach encourages them all to stand up on their skates. “You think about that sort of stuff?”

Sid rubs the line of his iPhone in his pocket, still stubbornly silent hours later. “Sometimes,” he says, as evenly as possible.

Jen hums, but then the kids are all skating towards him, wobbly and off-balance, and Jen has to move to get off camera while Sid braces himself for knee hugging.

“Hi everybody,” Sid says, reaching down to pat as many tiny helmets as he can, “you ready to do some skating with me today?”

The kids all cheer, and together they move closer to the center of the rink, Sid gently pushing them along so nobody topples over. When he glances over at the camera people, he catches Jen’s eye, and she smiles at him.

-

After the kids, the next item on Sid’s agenda is calling Pat. Sid always appreciates and dreads these calls in equal measure – it’s not like Sid doesn’t appreciate what Pat does for him, because he does, or like Pat is the best in his line of work, because he is.

It’s just, there’s a lot that comes with being the de facto face of the NHL that Sid really wishes he didn’t have to deal with, and every conversation Sid has with Pat reminds him of that fact.

“So we got another message from You Can Play,” Pat says over the phone as Sid sits in a coffee shop, nursing a latte and tapping his fingers on the table. “They were wondering if you’d do a spot for them.”

Sid sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “I think we’re going to have to go with polite refusal again,” he says finally.

There’s a long pause, and then Pat says, “You know, it might not be so bad if you do it now. I know you were thinking post-retirement, but we could spin it –“

“I don’t want to do it now,” Sid insists, fingers tightening on the phone. A You Can Play ad now would mean increased speculation into his private life, would mean more intrusive questions and reporters who think they deserved to know private shit and he just – doesn’t. “I want everything under wraps as much as possible. They don’t – my private life is for me. Not for anyone else.”

“If you’re sure,” Pat says, tone even, business-like.

“I’m sure,” Sid insists.

“Alright then.” Pat pauses, and Sid takes a sip of his latte, a little too milky for his tastes and cooling slightly. “That does, however bring me to my next question – you cc’d me on an email about –“

“Yeah,” Sid says, heading him off. “I – that still isn’t certain yet. I’ll let you know if it does go through, of course.”

Pat hums, and Sid takes another sip. “You do know,” he says, carefully bland, “it will be slightly harder to keep things under wraps if that does go through?”

“I know,” Sid says, resting his free hand on the table and clenching and unclenching his fist. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Alright then,” Pat says. “I’ll draw up a couple of mock statements, just in case, but I think just so long as you guys are careful, you’ll be alright. Do you want me to send you the drafts?”

“Please,” Sid replies, and then, “thanks, Pat.”

“Of course, Sid,” Pat says, voice warmer, and that’s the end of the call.

Setting his phone down on the table, Sid downs the last of his coffee and double-checks his email. There’s still nothing new – nothing new that’s important, anyways, and so he flicks through to find his grocery list, sending off a quick text to Geno. _We need anything?_

A few seconds later, Geno texts back, _just what on list!!! u done for day???_

 _Soon_ , Sid replies, and heads out for his car and the Giant Eagle.

-

It’s not until Sid’s checking out of the Giant Eagle, cart full of produce, pasta, and the new weird Garlic Bread Lays that Sid could definitely stop eating any time he wants to, when his phone finally, finally buzzes with a notification.

There’s three people in line in front of him, which is why Sid pulls out his phone and immediately scans his email. _Dear Mr. Crosby_ , it begins, and Sid leans against his cart, not quite holding his breath as he scans the words, and reads –

“Yes!” Sid says, so happy he could burst, only to look up and remember that he’s standing in a Giant Eagle.

“Are you okay?” the guy in front of him asks, right in the middle of loading his canned chili on the conveyer belt.

“I, um, sorry,” Sid says sheepishly, putting his phone safely back in his pocket and desperately hoping no one recognizes him, or, god forbid, tweets something. “I'm so sorry.”

“You’re cool, dude,” the guy in front of him says, laying down one of the separators so Sid can start loading up chicken breasts and the broccoli only he eats, since it’s apparently an affront to Geno’s taste buds. 

Then, as soon as the groceries are loaded, Sid pulls his phone back out and texts Geno. _Want to go to Legume tonight for dinner?_

 _fancy!!!_ Geno texts back, which isn’t really a response.

 _Yes or no?_ Sid asks, even as he fumbles for his wallet while the cashier starts ringing up his groceries. 

_))) i find nice shirt_ , Geno texts back.

“Having a good day?” the cashier asks.

“For sure,” he says, passing over his reusable grocery bags, unable to keep the smile off his face.

-

“So,” Geno asks as their server seats them at Legume, taking one of the menus and moving his chair so they can sit elbow to elbow, “why we go out so fancy? When you say dinner, I think Cheesecake Factory, not actual restaurant.”

“The Cheesecake Factory is an actual restaurant,” Sid replies, smiling in thanks at the server and taking his menu. “Besides, we can go out to a nice place for no reason.”

“Sure,” Geno says, nudging Sid with his knees. “We do, but more often when have reason.” He pauses, reaching out to drape his arm over the back of Sid’s chair and resting his hand on Sid’s shoulder. “This have to do with why you check phone?”

“Yeah,” Sid says. On the way over he’d been thinking to save the conversation for after dinner, but now that he’s here, with Geno smiling at him, he can’t wait. “I – here, read this,” he says, pulling out his phone and bringing up the email, sliding the phone over so Geno can read it himself.

For the next few minutes Sid just lets Geno read over the email, picking up one of the menus and scanning the entrees. When the server comes by to ask for their order, Geno taps at Sid’s shoulder, and Sid orders for the both of them, picking out a bottle of wine as well.

Sid knows where Geno’s at in the email when he grips at Sid’s shoulder, fingers almost painfully tight through Sid’s dress shirt. “Oh,” he says, setting down the phone and turning to look at Sid, “Sid, you – _Sid_.”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up, so I waited until I was sure,” Sid says quietly, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. “So sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but – I’m going to call tomorrow, get more details, and –“

“But we can?” Geno asks, looking at Sid with the same wide-eyed look of wonder and excitement that he had back when he was first starting out in the NHL, the same look that Sid fell in love with. “Sid, we can – we can adopt baby?”

“It’ll be a while,” Sid warns, taking his phone back, “Not until at least the summer, but – yeah, G, we can – we’re going to –“

He stops, too happy to finish his sentence, and Geno just beams at him, smile huge and wide. “We can make family together,” Geno says, finishing his thought, and Sid nods back rapidly.

“Yeah,” he says, cheeks starting to hurt from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah.”

Geno reaches down with his free hand to squeeze Sid’s thigh, bracing himself so he can lean around the corner of the table and kiss Sid, soft and sweet. “We going to be best family,” he insists, brushing more kisses across the top of Sid’s cheek, the curve of his jaw, quick and light before settling back into his chair. “Best.”

Sid nods, covering Geno’s hand on his thigh with his own, linking their fingers together. “Absolutely,” he says, holding onto Geno’s hand tight, not wanting to let go.

Their food comes fairly quickly, and they spend the rest of the dinner giving quick summaries of their day, Geno talking about his fights with the lawnmower and discovering a family of raccoons behind the woodpile while Sid describes the kids from the PR thing and his conversation with Pat. They order a chocolate truffle cake to split, though Geno only takes about four bites before pushing the plate closer to Sid.

“I can’t eat all of this,” Sid complains, but Geno just laughs in his face.

“Sweet tooth not eat whole piece? Awful liar. When we have kid, I teach how to lie, not you,” Geno says, eyes bright.

Sid can’t even complain, because, well. He and Geno are going to have kids, and going to teach them things like lying and cooking and how to put puts in the net. 

So instead, he takes another bite of cake, and smiles around his fork.

-

When they go to bed that night, Geno spoons up close behind Sid, pressing his face into Sid’s back and presses a kiss to a mole there. “Soon,” he mumbles, nosing at the curve of Sid’s shoulder and hooking his chin over the top, “soon, big family. You, me, babies, Tony – biggest. Best.”

Sid nuzzles back into him, closing his hands over Geno’s and letting Geno’s warmth lull him into a doze. “The best,” he agrees, mumbling slightly.

Geno hums, and kisses his neck, and it’s there, safe and warm and with Geno at his back, that Sid falls asleep.


End file.
